Close Call Makes Dad See Red

If I had not slammed on my brakes, a car crossing the Martin Goodman Trail would have run into me and likely knocked me into traffic on Lake Shore Blvd. W.

I saw the car leaving the Boulevard Club parking lot as I cruised down the hill. I slowed down, as I always do when I see a car, to make sure it stopped before crossing the trail. The car stopped. I kept slowing down as I tried to make eye contact with the driver, as I always do, but the windshield reflected clouds.

All seemed well, so I sped up. Then the car accelerated forward. My brakes screeched and my front tire stopped about a foot from the car.

I paused for a second, perfectly balanced on two wheels, but both my feet were clipped into my pedals. I tried to twist my right foot but couldn’t clip out before gravity took over. I crashed onto the sidewalk as cars sped past a few feet away.

Then I lost it.

It is not a moment I am proud of. I can’t remember when I have been so furious. Enraged, actually. A torrent of profanity flew from my mouth at the middle-aged male driver before I pulled myself off the concrete. He got out of his car and I pointed my finger in his face and yelled and screamed and swore. I didn’t even give him a chance to apologize. I felt more anger boiling up inside me as he talked and I knew I had to get out of there or I might actually punch the guy.

He said he didn’t see me. He was sorry. I didn’t care. It was still daylight and he nearly ran me over.

What fuelled my rage is that I bike to work year-round and I am as careful and conscientious a bike rider as you will find. I do everything I can to not be hit by a car.

I don’t bike particularly fast. I wear a white helmet and bright “yelling yellow” jacket in the winter months, with flashing lights on the front and back of my bike. I stop at red lights. I often use hand signals, I ring my silly little bell when I pass joggers and roller bladers and slower cyclists — I even ring at the geese and seagulls on the path.

I bought clip-in shoes and pedals last fall because I frequently face strong headwinds when I bike home and they give me more power.

I unclip my right foot ahead of any anticipated need to stop. I unclip both feet as I navigate the construction zone that is now Queens Quay.

About 12 kilometres of my 14-kilometre bike ride is on the new Linear Park path in Etobicoke or the Martin Goodman Trail. It’s a safe commute and I’m a safe cyclist.

I have to be because I’m also a dad of 1-year-old twins. I can’t afford to have an accident. My children can’t afford to lose their father and my wife can’t afford to lose her husband. I can’t afford serious injuries and long-term rehabilitation.

If you see me pedalling along the lake, know that I’m not just a guy on a bike.

I’m a father of twins going to work to earn a living so I can raise my family, or I’m biking home to see my beautiful babies before they are fed and put to bed.

I choose to bike to work because, where I live, the TTC is not The Better Way. It takes about an hour and 15 minutes to get to work on the 501 streetcar that rumbles by my house. It takes even longer to get home.

The GO Train also takes me about an hour, including the 25-minute walk to Mimico Station.

Biking takes me about 45 minutes and saves me a lot in commuting costs. Right now, it’s also the only way I can stay in shape. I’m 47 years old and I need to stay fit and healthy if I want to be around long enough to raise my children into adulthood.

I should be able to bike safely to and from work. But all it takes is one person not paying attention, even when I’m on the bike path, and suddenly my children don’t have a father.